


Meet Me at the Diner

by fyeahnatasharomanoff (MykaBeringWells)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers 4, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Kinda, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Ugh, my heart, you just can't write a post IW fic without angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 02:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykaBeringWells/pseuds/fyeahnatasharomanoff
Summary: inspired by the recently-released images of Chris and Scarlett on set of Avengers 4. (see end notes for link)what could possibly be happening between Steve and Natasha at that diner?





	Meet Me at the Diner

After The Snap, as the little group of them that was left had come to refer to it, they had gone throughout the city and gathered up children and elderly that had been left alone. Then they met, decided that was something that needed to be done on a global scale, as well as avert the crises that would no doubt arise. The best way to do that, they ultimately concluded, was to separate. It was Natasha's suggestion -- she knew everyone else was thinking it but the pain of losing half their friends, half the _universe_ was too fresh for them to dare speak that thought aloud, so like always, she fell on the sword, did the difficult thing, for those around her.

And sure enough, everyone looked at her, stunned, a pregnant silence falling over the small room. But then Steve, who was also staring at her, though in a more calculating manner than the others -- bless his soul, he nodded once, turned back to the group, and voiced his agreement.  
He could see some mouths beginning to open in protest so he channeled that sense of leadership and confidence he used to have and spoke before anyone else could.

"I get it. I understand the hesitance, not wanting to be apart from each other after we've just lost so many, so suddenly. But Natasha is right. There are only so many of us, and there are so many vulnerable people out there who need help. It's been long enough, and I don't think anyone else will be disappearing, so I know it's hard," he dropped his chin to his chest and exhaled heavily before picking his head back up, "I know it's hard. But if the rest of the team were here, I know, and I know _you_ know, this is what they'd want us to be doing. Hell, they'd be doing it right alongside us."

Steve paused to look around the room and found the faces that were staring back at him to be now in agreement, perhaps surrendering a bit, but understanding what he was saying and consenting, in the end. He nodded again, making the plan final.

"We'll take the night, to ... to grieve, to rest, to deal, to spend time together, to do whatever we need to do. And then we regroup in the morning and go our separate ways."

Everyone gestured their understanding in one way or another, and Steve had one final comment.

"Now go, take care of yourselves, please. And, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're all here." He made sure to look each one of them in the eye, even if they didn't quite meet his gaze, and then they slowly trickled out, retreating to deal in their own ways.

The only person left in the room with Steve was Natasha, by his side, as always. He turned to face her and immediately let his facade fall away. His body slumped, head hanging and gaze pointed at the ground, and he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

And just like so many years ago, in a little church in London, Natasha stepped forward and took the worn-out super soldier into her arms. He pressed his face into her neck and wrapped his arms tight around her, as though he was making sure she was still there and never wanted to let her go. She ran her fingers across his back in soothing patterns and after a while, pulled back, lifting his face with both her hands to get a read on his state.

One look at him had her stepping back, panic rising immediately to Steve's eyes but softening when she grasped his hand and half-whispered, "come on. Let's get some rest." Then she started walking, tugging him behind her on the familiar path to his room. He was too tired to really even quirk an eyebrow when she let herself in, but not so much when she walked him to his bedroom and seated him on the edge of the bed.

He looked at her with wider-than-normal eyes and she just brushed a thumb across his cheek, a wistful smile gracing her features before she turned to rifle through his drawers and came back to face him holding one of his t-shirts. "Mind if I borrow this?"

Steve shook his head dumbly, still playing catch-up on what was happening. He quickly understood, though, when she turned to walk towards the bathroom and looked over her shoulder at him to say, "I want you in comfortable clothes and in bed by the time I come back."

She held his gaze until he nodded in acknowledgement and then slid into the bathroom, that same grace still about her despite all that had just occurred.

As Steve stripped his uniform until he was just in his boxers and climbed under the covers, he had a thought that Natasha probably wasn't okay, was just putting up a front to put everyone else a bit more at ease. _Selfless, incredible,_ he thought.

And just then, she emerged from his bathroom wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, which was about three sizes too big for her and consequentially was falling off one of her shoulders. He could do nothing but stare, in awe, as she approached his bedside and sat, pulling one leg up so she was seated next to his abdomen where he was lying down.

Natasha ran a hand through his hair, and there was that sad little smile again. It bothered Steve, seeing it there on the otherwise mostly unmarred skin of her face, and he tried to sit up, to talk with her, but she gently pushed him back down. She stood then, pulling the covers up to Steve's chest and tucking them in around his body, effectively cocooning him. She leaned over, pressing her lips against his forehead in a moment that held more meaning than many full-on make-out sessions had for her before. She pulled back, and just as she was turning to leave for the living room, Steve's hand shot out and gripped her wrist, causing her to whip around to face him again.

"Where are you going?" he asked, a bit of desperation seeping through his voice, though who could blame him..

Natasha pulled her arm up so she could press her palm against his. "Just to sleep on the couch, I won't be far," she softly responded.

Steve looked conflicted for a few moments before he decided just to spit it out, "You can just stay here. I mean, the bed --" he peered straight into her eyes now -- "will you please stay?"

Even without the pleading look in his eyes, Natasha would've had the same answer. "Of course." She squeezed his hand to let him know it was okay and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as she pulled back the covers and slid into bed beside him.

She snuggled into him without any hesitation, resting her head on his chest and throwing an arm across his waist, simultaneously holding him close and keeping herself physically connected to him. Steve's arm came to circle her waist, holding tightly, and then he shifted onto his side so her head became pillowed by his arm. Then she was being pulled into him completely, both his arms wrapping around her, and she buried her face in his bare chest, basking in the warmth that was radiating from it and inhaling the scent that was so uniquely Steve.

Natasha's own hand came up to rest on Steve's cheek and she watched as his eyes, almost directly across from her own, fluttered shut. And before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss that lasted all of maybe 10 seconds before she was pulling away and snuggling into his embrace, murmuring a soft, "goodnight, Steve" and shifting the sheets to cover them more completely.

She felt his muscles relax where her hand was pressed against his abdomen and then a brush of lips on her hair before hearing a low, "goodnight Nat."

* * *

They were both up the next morning at dawn -- Natasha a little before Steve, which allowed her to take in the youthful set of his face -- appreciating what sleep could do for him, how it could bring him even a temporary sense of peace. She brushed her thumb back and forth on the apple of his cheek as she thought about how young he really was, how he hadn't signed up for any of this, and most of all, how he didn't deserve it -- none of them did. She looked away, sighing, and then his eyes flitted open and he squeezed her hip, where his hand had come to rest during the night, as if making sure she was still here.

"Nat?"

She smiled sweetly -- sorrowful, but sweet -- and got right down to business, "time to get up and get going."

She tried for a smile again but failed, and now Steve knew for sure what he'd suspected the night before -- Natasha was just as unsure and feeling pained about their impending separation as was the rest of the team.

But he said nothing, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom. By the time he returned, his bed was made -- just the way he normally did it, curiously enough -- and Natasha was gone. Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, getting ready for an assignment with no end date in sight.

Everyone gathered around the island, filled with food and drink, no doubt by Shuri, for the soon-to-be travelers. They were chatting aimlessly with each other when Steve walked in. Conversation slowed to a stop as he came to stand in front of them. He found Natasha's eyes, cleared his throat, and began. He mostly went through logistics, doling out geographic regions to each individual and reminding them that comms would be working, so if they did need something, well, it wasn't like they'd be completely cut off from each other, was the point.

And as he concluded that subject, he moved into something more personal.

"Listen, I know I'm not the leader of this team anymore, and haven't been for some time, for some of you... but I appreciate your willingness to do this. I really think this is the way, maybe the only way, to help. And I admire all of you for taking part."

A pause, silence, but heads began to nod, and then Steve returned to Captain Rogers mode (because Captain America had fallen long ago).

"Let's head out."

And he turned on his heel, leading the group towards the hangar, where each was supplied with their own jet. Steve stood and watched every single one of them leave, apprehension threatening to overwhelm him, but he stayed. He stayed until there was just one more person to watch go -- Natasha. He walked from where Rhodey's jet had just flown away from and towards where he knew Natasha's dedicated mode of transport was located.

He found her moving things around inside, the back walkway giving him a perfect place to lean against the frame of the doorway and watch her work. Steve sighed, he was going to miss her. As if sensing his presence and inner turmoil, Natasha stopped what she was doing and looked up to catch Steve's gaze. She smirked, "take a picture, it'll last longer."

A real smile, albeit a small one, came to Steve's face at that, and he rolled his eyes before responding in kind, "maybe I will."

And then she cocked her hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow at him and Steve whipped out his burner phone and took a picture before she could move. As he looked down at it with a small grin playing on his lips, quickly setting it as her contact picture, she strode over to him until she was within arms reach.

"Fine," she playfully acquiesced, "but just remember the real thing is better."

Steve sent her a wry grin. "I don't think I could ever forget that, Nat." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and she smiled, soft and warm and small, like it was reserved just for him.

She stepped closer and placed a hand on the back of his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of it. "I know." Then she paused her motions and craned her neck to look up at him, a question in her eyes. "You know you've got me, right? Just like I've got you..."

One corner of Steve's mouth twitched up into a soft, momentary smile. "I do now."

And Natasha was suddenly reminded of four years ago, a guest bedroom, a similar statement coming from his lips. She smiled, then, small but genuine.

"Good."

And then she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, but Steve turned and caught her lips with his, not wanting to do anything else half-hearted and hiding things. He could feel Natasha smile into it and they stayed like that for a few beats, memorizing the way their mouths moved together, the shocks that went straight to their hearts, making their beats pick up in speed and strength.

And then Steve pulled away, to let them both breathe, and pulled Natasha into him in a tight embrace. She would've chuckled if the circumstances had been different -- Steve never did anything halfway, did he? She soaked up the moment before he was pulling away, hands reaching behind him and coming back with his dog tags grasped in one hand. She looked from them to him, back to them -- he was holding them out... to her. She peered back up at him.

"I want you to take them. Please. Keep them safe. It will make me feel better about all this."

She gave him a knowing look, he was just trying to brush it off -- but who was she to deny him? So she moved her hair to one side and turned around, looking over her shoulder to silently tell him 'go on.' He understood what she wanted and placed the chain around her neck, fastening the clasp at the back, and when she turned back around to face him, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

He wasn't anticipating his own reaction but... seeing his tags, the things that identified him, reminded him who he was and what he stood for, guided him in tough moral decisions, kept the memories of his past alive... seeing them on the neck of the woman who had his heart -- because yes, he recently realized, he loved her -- everything felt like it was falling into place.

And then she sent him a soft smile and walked to sit in the pilots seat, swiveling around to face him one last time, to say "see you later, Rogers. Don't be a stranger," motioning with her head to his pocket, where his phone resided.

Steve smiled, "I won't." And then, more serious, "take care of yourself, Natasha."

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and she didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep, so she settled for, "you too, Steve."

He nodded, gazed at her one last time, and then turned and walked off the plane, watching as she expertly lifted off and navigated the jet away -- again.

Steve tried not to let his shoulders fall as he walked to his own plane, for fear that a villager might see -- after all, he had to instill confidence in people who needed to see it, and the people of Wakanda definitely fit into that category.

Still, as soon as the buildings had turned into small dots, he gave himself a moment, to fall apart, to mourn. And then, when the navigation system announced he would be landing in T-20 minutes, Steve rolled his shoulders back, straightened his clothes, packed his things, and transformed into the mission-oriented soldier he'd been when he first came out of the ice and began working for SHIELD. No attachments yet to this new life, nothing to have strong feelings about that might cause emotional hurt -- just the mission, just helping people. That, he could do. That gave him purpose.

And as he walked off the plane, into the cold and uninviting Russian winter, he prayed that that would be enough.

* * *

As the months went by, Steve heard from each member of the team at least twice. They seemed to be doing a lot of good, which was important for civilians to see and feel, after enduring something so horrific.

The only person he'd spoken to more than a few times was Natasha. He'd called her just a few weeks in, asking where he could find the best piroshki in St. Petersburg. She'd laughed and told him off for not letting her have Russia, but he knew that she knew that he did it to avoid putting her in an uncomfortable situation. After all, who knows what enemies she had in Russia that might still be alive, not to mention the association with the Red Room that the country had for her.

After that, though, they'd called each other fairly frequently for two people who were supposed to be occupied assisting others. But they still got the job done, of course. They just talked in their brief moments of respite and to notify the other each time one moved on elsewhere in their assigned region. Those conversations turned into talks filled with planning for the future, and before they both knew it, they were planning a rendezvous at a diner near Clint's farm. She'd yet to check up on him and he knew she was dying to, but following her orders, because she would never outright disobey him on something so important. And he figured he could use a trip back to the States, to check in on how the government was faring there, so they agreed, the plans were made, and they both spent the next two months very much looking forward to their reunion.

As those two months went by, though, Natasha heard from Steve less and less, until three weeks had passed with no contact. Those weeks bled into a month and a half, and then she was on her jet, en route to Nebraska, where she knew Clint had moved after the mess between Tony and Steve, hoping and praying that Steve was still coming. Even more, that he was alive.

She'd heard the news of hostiles in the Urals, ransacking the homes of innocent villagers and taking much more than physical items, leaving women with invisible scars they'd carry with them forever, and men with appallingly visible ones that would last just as long. She knew Steve would've been at the center of that, fighting, _alone_ \-- she shivered at the thought and stopped that line of thinking in its tracks. He would be there, he gave his word, and he's always honest.

She repeated that to herself the entire way there, then the entire way to the diner, then in the diner as she sat, waiting, anxiously looking out the window, hoping for any glimpse of the man to whom she'd devoted herself, as friend and partner and... whatever Steve wanted her to be.

The waitress came after a few minutes and Natasha ordered a coffee and then turned her attention back to the window, and that's when she saw him -- all casually-clothed six feet and two inches of him. She raked her eyes over him as he approached the entrance to the diner. He looked _good_ , and she was relieved at the lack of visible marks of injury, but noticed the hard set of his jaw (which was, to her surprise, clean-shaven.. his hair lighter, too, she could see now that he was almost at the door) and knew immediately he must be under stress.

Natasha looked on worriedly from her seat, eyes widened minutely with concern, as he walked to the door. She kept her eyes on him as he stepped in and looked around, so she could see the tenseness in his face ease up a bit when he finally saw her.

Steve made his way towards where Natasha was sat, in a corner booth in the very back of the homey restaurant, and knew they had to be quiet and not make many noticeable movements. But as he slid in across from her he couldn't help it when his lips quirked into a grin at the corners -- everything felt a little bit lighter now that she was sitting within arms reach, now that he could look at her with his own two eyes.

They talked as though they'd never stopped talking, tossing quips back and forth and keeping it light for a while before eventually getting to the more serious things. And she could still see the tenseness in his muscles.

"Have you heard from Scott?" Natasha asked in a hushed tone.

Steve shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

"Anything _about_ him?" she continued to press. That was one of the things they'd talked about over the phone quite a bit - whether to send someone to check on him or trust him to be okay on his own or.. neither of them had the heart to say it out loud.

Steve mumbled, "no," as he titled his chin and eyes down and his whole body turned downcast.

Natasha didn't want this - this sad, helpless, guilty-looking Steve - because there was really nothing he could do. So she reached her hand across the table, an invitation, and he immediately covered it with his own. She could see, as soon as his skin met hers, how his whole body sagged, like it was doing one giant exhale, like maybe all he needed to relieve the stress was her touch.

Steve turned over her hand so their palms were touching and laced their fingers together. Natasha finally got a glimpse of the kind-hearted, gentle giant for whom she now knew she would die as he squeezed her hand in gratitude and met her eyes with a soft, warm gaze of his own.

Then the waitress appeared again to deliver the bill and Natasha pulled her hand away, not from embarrassment, but as a signal to Steve that she was ready to go.

Steve, ever the gentleman, paid for the entire thing, and they stood to leave. As she put on her jacket, he stood and waited, watching, taking in her appearance in full for the first time in nearly half a year.

"The red's coming back in," he noted with a smile. He really did love her hair. He was sad to see her dye it blonde when they were on the run before, and happy now that he could see the her natural auburn color coming back in from her roots, spreading to cover the top half of her hair, because she'd let it grow, too. He lifted a hand up to take a few strands between his fingers, in a content, almost awe-struck state. Natasha just smiled softly -- knowingly -- and stepped closer to him when he let his hand fall away from her hair in favor of placing a few bills on the table and pocketing his wallet.

And then she was even closer, sharing his body heat, she was so close. She moved again -- leaned her head on Steve's chest and pressed her cheek into him -- and murmured, "you scared me."

Steve knew immediately that she was referring to his not calling during the last two months, and sighed heavily, an arm coming to wrap around her waist automatically. He had a good excuse -- being out of cell range and then accidentally dropping the phone into an icy lake when he finally had a bar of service. However, none of them were good enough, none of them mattered, so his only response was, "I'm sorry."

He squeezed her hip to emphasize his words and Natasha hummed, then pulled away but only to press her face into his bicep when his hand came back to his side. She inhaled, then, and Steve ran his palm on her back soothingly, despite the roughness of his palm waged by years of fighting and sketching, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, where her red hair was back in full force. They remained that way for what seemed like forever, reveling in having the other there, physically with them again. And then Natasha pulled away, after sending Steve a soft smile, and it was over. Away they went -- back to business, but together again.

And though there was so much wrong, so much so very not right, not good, Natasha felt for the first time since the snap that maybe things were on their way to being alright. Because she felt content, at home -- because she was once again where she was supposed to be - at Steve's side. She'd follow him to the ends of the earth, she knew that, and as Steve looked over at her with something akin to love in his eyes, she knew he felt the same.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry. This really got away from me. I did not at all mean for it to get this angsty. I didn't even mean to write much post-IW stuff at all... I was just going to focus on the diner and it was supposed to be cute and light and lovey and somehow this is what came out instead so... apologies if it wasn't what you were expecting  
> but if you liked it - woohoo! let me know! honestly let me know either way. I wrote this from 9:30pm-1am so there are probably multiple errors lol so please tell me!  
> probably tomorrow, if I have time, I'm going to write a much cuter, fluffier, lets-forget-about-IW, domestic, happy version of what goes down in the diner, so look out for that!
> 
> thanks for reading and if you liked it, leave a heart! <3 (I'm desperate for love I'm sorry - you don't actually have to)
> 
> <http://www.justjared.com/2018/09/07/chris-evans-paul-rudd-scarlett-johansson-film-avengers-4-in-atlanta/>


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